Mordónarë
by Sterling silver
Summary: All that happened in Moria . . . from the Balrog's point of view. Please read and review; I want to know if I should keep going!


Disclaimer: If you think LotR is mine, then you got another think coming.  
  
I wake from slumber at a loud crash that echoes through the dark caverns of Moria. Noise like rolling thunder shatters the stillness of eternal shadow under the mountain, and it awakens me once more like the dwarves did so long ago. The sound stops, and the stillness abruptly begins to reclaim everything nearby me, save for the last ringings of the sound. There is a pause, and a immense drum-beat follows, once again breaking the silence. It is followed by another, and another. And I know that the intruders have waken other things than me with their noise- the Orcs are aware now of their presence.  
  
It was the Orcs who truly woke me up. I could have gone back to sleep again then, but with their racket, drums, and screechings of war, any attempts at slumber were doomed to me. I wondered in the back of my mind whether or not they remembered my presence at all, for should they had known that their racket would awaken me their ancient fear of my fire would quite likely silence their din. Orcs are noisy creatures.  
  
I would have simply returned to sleep, had that been an option. They were so loud- I could hear crashes and battle-cries from above, in the direction of the Chamber of Mazarbul as they attempted to destroy the newcomers. It sounded to me as though they were failing miserably. Now fully awake, and irritated at the intruders for rousing the Orcs and wakening me, I eased myself out from the cleft in the rocks of Moria and lumbered in the direction of the battle.  
  
At each step, the noise of my footfalls echoed through the Black Pit, and rocks fell from the ceiling. I cursed my clumsy and large form that hindered me from moving around easily as I had once, oh so long ago in Valinor, been able to. But I had grown so used to the shadow and fire that I knew I could never reject this form. I would be Mordónarë for the rest of the days of Arda.  
  
By now I was nearing to the center of Dwarrowdelf, and I could hear the Orcs coming closer to the city's center as well. It seemed that the intruders, the prey, had escaped the Orcs. From the sounds of things they were cornered now, however. But I didn't want it to end like that. I wanted to see these foes, for I sensed a new power about them. I growled low, the rumbling releasing more rocks from the high arcing roof. I could hear the tone of the Orcs' voices change from triumph to terror as they heard me. They had obviously forgotten the existence of Durin's Bane in excitement and anger of the intruders.  
  
I growled once more, and I could hear their frightened shrieks and the pattering of their feet as they scurried back to where they came from. Hecal, umëa yrch, I thought, though knowing they could not hear me. Get you gone, foul Orcs. In a way I wondered how I could despise them so when I was so much like them, but nonetheless I could somehow, and did. If it was one thing I could take back in all my long years I would turn away from those once-elves that so long ago I had fought alongside when Morgoth was strong. Now all he had left his mighty legacy to was Sauron, my fellow Fallen one. Yet one more Maia who had disregarded Eru and the other Valar. And so I heard that this Sauron, while a great deceiver and weaver of lies, had lost many battles, and was now a shapeless spirit in command of nothing but the wraiths, his only hope for returning shadow bound up in some trinket, a ring of sorts I supposed. Ai . . .  
  
As I made my way through the halls of Moria, as I had not done for a long time, since the return of the dwarves, in fact, I could faintly see a light of sorts far ahead. It was moving, so I could only suppose that it was the newcomers. I felt once more a sense of power coming from that light, or rather that light being generated by a sense of power. Something, or someone strong and powerful had come into the Black pit. This was, indeed, quite new, for although there were the occasional travelers taking a shortcut through Moria, beaten back by mighty Caradhras, beings of power rarely came through.  
  
Crashing through the hall, I kept watching the light, following it. It seemed that the intruders were making for the bridge of Khazad-dûm in an attempt at escaping. Fools! Even I could cross that bridge, once they were past it! If I wished I could chase them all the way to the Nimrodel! I quickened my pace and follow after them as fast as I could.  
  
The bridge was now in my sight, having turned around the last bend. I could see some of the intruders running across it, and I could tell one was an elf by the way he moved. Four others I did not recognize, but they had a short stance so I guessed they might be dwarf-relations. One other yet was a dwarf, and two were Men. These eight ran across the bridge, followed by a ninth, a being I knew and yet did not know at all. Halfway across the bridge, as I neared it, he turned, and I recognized him. From ages ago in Valinor, I knew him still, although now with his grey robes and tattered hat he looked like a conjuror of cheap tricks rather than the Istari he was.  
  
Olorin . . .  
  
Alright, that was short and I know it. I'm sorry, okay? Now, reviews would be nice, I want to know if you want me to continue this thing. Flame if you wish, I will use it to cook Frodo gourmet meals if you do. ~The Author. 


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